


never thought that i could be, i could be-

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: i didn't know that we could break a silver lining [8]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Other Characters but like...spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3410090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>skye + grant + the story of cinderella, with a few twists that might not give them the happiest of endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never thought that i could be, i could be-

 

It starts simply enough: with a wish.And in Skye’s defense, she’d wished all the time.On stars, on eyelashes.No one had been listening.What’s the harm of it?To hope for the impossible.Everyone does it.

Why should she be the exception?

She’ll never figure that one out.She won’t even remember.

 

 

 

Here’s the story, in layman’s terms: Skye wants to go to the ball.Not for any real reason, not for true love or fame or fortune.She just wants to wear a fancy dress for one night.To feel like more than the orphaned serving girl that cleans fireplaces.

She doesn’t express her desire out loud, of course.No one would take her.She’s got soot in every pore, singed hair, rags for clothes.No one notices her.No one cares.

That’s fine.She’s adjusted by now.So long as they don’t try anything funny, so long as she gets bread and water and maybe some leftovers, sometimes, she can settle.She can pretend.

She’s not sure what else to want, really.She’s not sure what else is out there.

(Sometimes she dreams of a kingdom far, far away.She dreams of someone she thinks is her father.But it’s gone the moment she awakes.)

So she isn’t going to cry over it.She isn’t.She knows better by now, knows that her tears are as useless as the ashes in the fireplace.

But.She feels this ache in her chest that she usually manages to ignore.Gnawing at her.Begging.So just once, just this once, she makes her wish out loud.She sits in the balmy heat, basks in the moonlight.Stares longly at the palace up on the hill. She takes a deep breath.Shuts her eyes. “I wish.”

And that, of course, is where it begins.

 

It’s dark in the garden, where she sits.Just Skye and the mice and the lamplights.

She’s digging circles in the dark.Enjoying the last bit of summer, when the fireflies buzz low and land on her shoulders and fingers.She’s going to get dirt on her clothes.No one will notice.

Which, oddly enough, is when the sky falls.

Not the sky.A star.Skye watches as one moment, the night is twinkling and unchanging as always.And the next, there is a star hurdling towards her, so quickly that Skye is almost frightened.

She’s mostly curious.The fear is only that of being burned alive by a falling star, and really, what would that take from her?

She doesn’t run.Which is good, since the star doesn’t even land in front of her.It lands over the garden wall, on the neighbor’s land.

Skye rises from her place in the dirt, the mice chattering nervously at her heels.“It’s fine,” she says.“It’s just a falling star.” Just that.Simple.Easy.Stars fall out of the sky all the time.Every day, even.

She pads over the flowerbeds, through the mossy, damp parts of the soil.She makes it quickly to the garden wall, and she climbs, her dirty feet and hands quickly hurtling her over the decaying stone.

“Oh,” she hears.A voice that sounds excited and too certain all at once.“Oh, you poor thing.”

There is a tall woman over the garden wall, in glittering silver and gold.Hair like fire, the brightest, purest red Skye has ever seen.It’s a red matched only by her lips.She’s staring at Skye with green eyes that seem to positively glow, and that should scare her.Something about this woman should scare her.

Skye’s too stubborn to be afraid.Always has been.“Excuse me?”

“You poor girl,” she says.“All dressed in rags and covered in cinders.What do they call you, cinder-girl?”

Skye crosses her arms.She’s no fallen star-goddess, but she’s not that filthy.Well.Maybe she is, but there’s no need to point it out.“Who are you?”

The woman smiles.“Your fairy godmother,” she says, with a smile that should be suspicious.“I heard your wish.”

Skye blinks.The mice have followed her through the cracks in the wall, stand at her feet in a row.She doesn’t like the sound of their squeaks.Too nervous.Too unsure.

But it’s just a wish.A dream your heart makes, or something.She’s not sure.“I’m Skye.”

The smile grows.All white teeth.“That’s a beautiful name,” she says.“You want to go to the ball, don’t you, Skye?”

Skye shifts on her feet.The mice are pestering her.Telling her to say no.

But she does want to go.She really does.She nods, stringy hair falling into her face.“I do.”

The mice squeak in protest.She shoos them.

Her fairy godmother approaches, and Skye ignores the urge to tell her to step back.“Well,” she says, voice like music.“Let’s get you clean, first?”

Skye studies her filthy hands.“You’re going to bathe me?”

The woman chuckles.Pulls a long, silver wand from the sleeve of her dress.(If mice could scream, they would be.They do not like that wand.)“In a way.”

 

Skye doesn’t notice the first bolt of magic until it hits her squarely in the chest.It stings.It stings more than she thought it would.Burrows under her skin, into her heart, runs through her veins.

It feels like her skin’s being scrubbed raw.Like her hair is being pulled.But the dirt and ash is coming off of her skin.So much of it that she’d forgotten what it really felt like to be clean.To have smooth skin and soft hair.Even as the magic burns through her, she runs her fingers through her soft strands.

She could cry.She has clean hair.How long had that been denied to her?

“Look at you,” Fairy Godmother says.“As beautiful as any princess under all that dirt.”

No one’s ever called her beautiful.And she’s certainly not as pretty as a princess.She’s still in her rags, after all.She should probably stop touching her hair.Her face.She’s so soft.Has she always been so soft?

“You’re going to need a dress,” Fairy Godmother says.“Pretty as you are, the rags are something of a giveaway.”

Skye barely even notices her raggedy clothes anymore.She’s so beautiful.She’s so clean!It’s a miracle.It’s magic.She doesn’t even pay attention to the protests of the mice anymore.“A dress?” Skye says, eager as could be.“A real ballgown?”

“Only the finest for you,” Godmother promises.“Give me a twirl.”

Skye tilts her head.Pulls at her skirts.“You want to see me twirl in this old thing?”

“Trust me, darling,” Godmother says.

Skye beams.She does trust her fairy godmother.She should.She steps forward, spins on the tips of her toes.

Another shot of magic, entwining itself around her.Putting her soft hair half-up in gentle waves.Turning her silly old rags into the softest, grandest blue dress she’s ever seen.

On her feet appear a pair of sparkling glass slippers.They look like they should pinch and ache.But they don’t.They feel perfect.

She stops spinning.Feels her skirts rustle and settle around her.They’re so poofy and sparkly.So pretty.She’s never ever felt this pretty before.

“I knew it,” Fairy Godmother says.“I knew I picked the right girl.”

Skye doesn’t hear her.She’s too busy lifting her skirts, swishing her hips.Showing off the movement of her dress to all the mice.They might be a bit miffed, but she knows they’re still impressed.

“Now,” Godmother says.“The finishing touches.If you could bring me your mice?”

Skye pauses.“My mice?”She can feel them trying to hide under her dress.

“Just for a little while,” Godmother says.“You need horses and a carriage.”

“But they’ll change back, right?” Skye says.

Godmother fiddles with her wand.Gives Skye a patient smile.“Of course.At midnight, I will change your mice back to the way they are, your dress back to rags, your carriage back into a pumpkin.”

“My carriage?”

“Did I not mention that yet?” Godmother asks.“You’ll also need a pumpkin carriage.”

“But,” Skye says, glancing at her beautiful dress.“This will be gone by midnight?”

“You’ll still be clean, if that’s what worries you,” Godmother says.“But I don’t have the magic to keep you as a princess all night.Just long enough for you to catch the prince’s heart.And then he’ll come find you.”

That does make sense, Skye supposes.And Godmother’s already done so much for her.“How will he find me?”

Godmother pointed downward. “Your shoes will remain,” she says.“Leave him one glass slipper, and take the other.It will lead him right to you.”

Skye pulls up her skirts.Glances at the sparkling glass slippers again, like they’ll tell her something.Sighs.“Alright,” she says.“I supposed that makes sense.”

Godmother brushes Skye’s hair with her pale hand.Beams.“It will be perfect,” she promises.“Now come out, little mice.I won’t hurt you.”

Skye picks up her dress so that the mice can’t hide.She ignores their squeaks of indignant protest.If Godmother says it will be perfect, then Skye believes her.

She’s usually far more rational.But it’s hard when she’s so overwhelmed.The dress, the magic, the ball: how could she say no?She can’t.She couldn’t.

She should.She doesn’t know that.

 

\--

 

Skye thinks she might hold her breath all the way to the palace.Not literally, of course, because that would kill her.But the anticipation makes her breaths seem shorter, almost nonexistent. 

She remembers Godmother’s words.She has to leave by midnight, and she has to leave the prince her glass slipper.

Skye didn’t tell Godmother this, but she’s not totally sold on the prince.What’s he going to do when he realizes she’s just a servant girl?He’ll probably laugh her out of the palace.Tonight isn’t about finding true love.It’s about having nice hair and a pretty dress.She’ll likely never get to do this again.She should savor it, the bumps of the carriage, the silk of her dress.She doesn’t need a prince.She just wants to feel clean for a night.

She feels plenty clean.It’s a wonderful sensation.It makes her feel dazzling.Regal.Like she could take on the world, if she wanted.

 

The carriage pulls to a stop, and Skye’s certain her heart skips a beat.Someone is opening the door for her, bathing her in the warm, welcoming lights of the palace.

There’s a long staircase before her, lined with softly glowing candles.And the entrance of the palace seems to call to her, like it wants her to come inside.

She takes a step out of her carriage, careful not to trip on her skirt.It’s so big, bigger than any dress she’s ever worn, and she must move so carefully.

One of the horse-mice whinnies at her in warning.She wishes they’d all stop being so anxious.

She turns to them, her horse-mice.Offers them a smile.“I’ll be alright,” Skye says.“I’ll find you at midnight.”

They blink at her with dark eyes.They don’t want her to go in.But her mind’s made up.

She lifts her skirts, and climbs the stairs.

 

\--

 

The ballroom is, in a word: terrifying.She’d also been thinking of magnificent, but the dread that gets caught in her throat when she sees the wealth of it all seems to overrule that.So many jewel-like gowns and beautiful women.Handsome men in fine coats.A real orchestra and a chandelier made of crystal.

She doesn’t belong here.She’s just a poor girl in a pretty dress.

She should go.

But she’s already here.And she’s only ever going to get to do this once.She tilts her chin, squares her shoulder.Takes one delicate step after another.Until she is halfway down the stairs into the ballroom, and the entire room has grown silent.

She stills.They know.They’ve all seen her, and they know.

But she’s halfway down.And if they kick her out, it will at least be because she dared to set foot on the ballroom floor.

So she continues gracefully down the stairs.Feels her heart swell in her chest with anxiety and dread and-

Pride.

Something in her, a still-small voice, tells her they are not angry at her.They’re envious.They’re admiring her beauty.She feels like that might be an impossibility.That she’s just lying to herself.But tonight would be the night to do that.So she smiles softly, and allows herself her pride.

 

She cautiously steps onto the ballroom floor, one glass slipper at a time.There’s a sense of accomplishment to it, overruled only by the fact that she’s never been quite so nervous in her entire life.

She smoothes her skirt.Thinks of fiddling with her hair.Thinks of running back out to the carriage and her horse-mice and living out the rest of her days as a serving girl, where she belongs.

There’s a gentle tap on her shoulder.

She turns her head to the source, curls bouncing against her shoulders.

The prince must have her confused for someone else.He’s staring at her quizzically, with the most unreadable look in his brown eyes.Finally, he meets her gaze, and smiles.

He smiles like a wolf.And Skye doesn’t like that at all.“I’ve been looking for you,” he says.

Skye ignores the way his voice makes her skin crawl.Something is wrong about him.Dark.Her carriage is looking more appealing by the second.“I don’t think that’s possible, your majesty,” she says.“I just got here.”

He chuckles.It does not reassure her.“My mistake.You see, I’ve been looking for the most beautiful girl at the ball.And here you are.”

Is that supposed to make her swoon?The rest of the crowd has gone back to their dancing, leaving her under the gaze of the prince.Like they’re the only two people in the ballroom.

Something in her tells her not to trust him.To never trust him.That he is dangerous.“There’s more to a woman than her beauty.”

A spark in his dark eyes.She’s caught his interest.He’s amused.That’s not what she had hoped would happen.“Of course there are, my lady,” he says.“A woman has many skills.Her cunning.Her ambition.”He takes her hand, and brings it to his lips.“Her luck.”

“What?” Skye asks.

He ignores her question.Kisses her hand.“Prince Christian, my lady,” he says.“And you are?”

Skye swallows.“I don’t think you’ve earned my name yet, your majesty.”

He laughs.It’s the most genuine thing she’s seen from him yet.It still feels calculated.Cold.Like he’s interested in her for all the wrong reasons.

“Will you tell me where you’re from, my lady?” he asks.

Why is he looking at her like that?He’s expecting something from her.She just doesn’t know what.

“I’m from very far away,” she says.He still hasn’t released her hand, and with every passing moment, she feels the urge to pull it away from him.

“Of course you are,” he says.The wolf’s smile again.“Would you like to dance?”

She swallows.“I-”

 

“Christian!”

The prince finally, finally drops her hand.Skye tries not to sigh in relief.At least, not too loudly.

She watches as his expression sours.“Grant,” he says.“I’m in the middle of something.”

Another prince.A slightly younger one, with hair as black as night and eyes like gold.He glances quickly at Skye, and she feels her heart leap into her throat.“I’m sorry, Christian,” Grant says.“But it’s the servants.They can’t find the reserve wine, and you know they never listen to me, so-”

“Unbelievable, Grant,” Christian says.“If you just had a bit more authority-” He cuts himself off.Shakes his head.Turns back to Skye, his face a mask of sincerity. “I’m so sorry, my lady,” he says.“I’ll be right back.Grant, watch her for me, won’t you?”

Grant blinks.“She’s not a child, Christian,” he says.

Christian smirks.“You know what I meant, Grant,” he says.“I hope he doesn’t bore you in my absence,” Christian says.And he’s gone.

 

Skye waits until he’s fully vanished into the crowd before letting out a sigh of relief.“Thank you,” she says, without meaning to.Puts her hand over her mouth.Widens her eyes in embarrassment.

Prince Grant smiles.And his smile is everything a smile should be: warm, welcoming, as bright as the sun and the stars.Skye could stare at him smiling all night.“It’s quite alright,” Grant says.“I know Christian can be a bit... forthcoming.”

To put it lightly.Skye remembers, finally, that she should probably curtsey in front of a prince.“Thank you, again,” she says, tilting her head down.

“Oh, um-” Grant says.“You don’t have to-”He tugs at his sleeves, for a moment.“Between you and I,” he says, leaning forward.“There is no issue with the wine.I just thought you might need some air.”

Skye feels her cheeks flush.He’s leaned awfully close to her.“You did that for me?”

“Yes,” Grant says, and she thinks he may be blushing, too.“But don’t tell my brother.I believe he’s set eyes on you.”

Skye wrinkles her nose.“Would it offend you if I said I wasn’t interested?”

Grant looks surprised, for a moment.She’s not sure why that bothers her, but she feels much better as his surprise turns into something much happier.“Not at all,” Grant says.“It might be the best news I’ve heard all night.”

Skye smiles at him.Notices the way Grant lights up, even more than she thought possible.He’s so divinely handsome. “Would you like to dance, Prince Grant?”

“Just Grant is fine,” he says.

She laughs at that.“Alright, Just Grant,” she says.“You can call me Skye.”

“Would you prefer Fair Skye?” he asks.

She bats him on the arm.She should remember that he’s a prince and that she shouldn’t do such things, but manners have never been her strong suit.“Flatterer.”

“Hardly,” Grant says.“I’m just stating the truth.”

“Well,” Skye says.“You are just.”

He laughs.It’s the sweetest sound in all of creation.He takes her hand.“I would love to dance with you.”

 

Skye’s neglected to tell him that she has no idea how to waltz.It’s not exactly like it was taught to girls at the orphanage, in between the screaming and the dirt and the suffering.  

Everyone here knows how to waltz. No one here has ever seen the inside of an orphanage. 

She really shouldn’t have asked him to dance.

“You seem nervous,” Grant says.“Have you never done this before?”

Skye tries to smile.“That obvious?”

He chuckles.“If I can do it, anyone can,” he says.He clears a space for them on the dance floor.Steps in front of her.Places one hand on the small of her back.She moves closer to him.Worries for a moment that she’s going to step on his toes.But he doesn’t seem worried at all.“I promise,” he says.“You’ll do just fine.”

She hadn’t noticed before, but there’s no music playing.The band had stopped, waited for the prince to join the dance.That’s the sort of thing that happens to Grant.The sort of thing that makes her acutely aware that she’s being stared at again.

She wants to at least pretend they’re all looking at Grant.But she’s not stupid.

“Alright,” Grant says.“Follow my lead.”

 

The orchestra picks up again at Grant’s signal.Skye expects the ballroom to resume its normal pace, but it doesn’t.They all stand there and wait.

Of course.It would be rude if the prince didn’t lead the dance.

Her face feels so hot she fears she might melt.The whole room is hot, really.Boiling.She’s going to faint any moment now.

“It’s easy,” Grant whispers, under the swell of music.“Put your hand on my shoulder.”

She does.He’s very firm, under his jacket.She finds herself squeezing at his shoulder muscle before realizing her mistake.Stilling her hand.“Sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be,” he says.“Now, step back with your right foot.Follow the tempo of the music.”

She blinks.“I don’t know what a ‘tempo,’ is.”

Grant seems embarrassed by that.Like it’s his fault she’s so ignorant.She could melt into a puddle right here and now, if need be.“It’s, um, the beat of the music.The count of it.It’s a count of three.So-” He moves his left foot forward, and she steps her right foot back.“One.And then move your left foot with my right.”

She does.

“That’s two!” he says, beaming.“That’s perfect.And now follow my right foot again.”

It’s a more complicated step than the last, but she manages.

“You’re a natural,” he tells her.“Just mirror my movements, and you’ll be fine.”

The dance has resumed around them, and for that, Skye is grateful.Perhaps no one had the temperament to watch the prince teach some strange girl how to waltz.

Well, try to teach.The movement still feels confusing to her, but she can match Grant’s movements well enough.And that feels right.The music is getting in her head, winding itself through her veins and she realizes something, as she follows Grant’s steps.

No one else in the whole ballroom matters.No one else in the whole kingdom.It’s just him.It’s just the two of them, and this dance means more to her than the world.

Grant leans forward on a whim, and his lips gently brush her forehead.“You’re beautiful,” he tells her.

It doesn’t have the same feeling as when Prince Christian told her.Because Grant says it like he is awed, not expectant.Grant means that her soul is beautiful, and that he can see it.

She doesn’t know how he can.But even nonsense feels right with him.

“You’re divine,” she tells him.

He studies her face with the dreamiest look in his eyes.He stares at her lips for longer than he should, and his face is but a breath away from hers, she starts to close her eyes and-

She sees Prince Christian out of the corner of her eye.And he’s furious.

 

Skye twists back from Grant with a gasp, practically falling out of his arms.

“What’s wrong?” Grant asks.

“Your brother,” she says, tilting her head in Christian’s direction.

Grant snaps out of his happy little daze.His smile falls.He clenches his jaw.Turns over his shoulder and stares at Christian over the throngs of dancing nobles.“Go to the garden,” Grant says.“I’ll find you, alright?”

Skye nods.“Do you promise?”

“I do,” Grant says.“I just need to speak with him.Christian’s not an irrational man. Just a selfish one.Sometimes.He’s not that bad, really.”

“I’ll be in the garden,” Skye says.

He smiles.“I won’t be long,” he promises.

She hopes not.It’s already 10 ‘o clock.

 

\--

 

There’s a real, live peacock in the garden.Naturally, Skye almost falls over him. The bird rustles his feathers at her, lets out an offended squawk of protest. She smoothes her skirt as the bird saunters off.

The garden, though, is much nicer than any peacock.It’s enormous, bigger than the ballroom.Lined with softly glowing lanterns and roses of all colors.It takes her breath away.She finds herself drawn to the fountain in the center of it all.The water seems to sparkle, like it’s flecked with gold.

It’s so regal.It’s so beautiful.

She could stay out here forever.

She sits on the edge of the fountain, turns her head to the surface of the water.

She hasn’t gotten the chance to study her reflection until now.She’s never worn makeup or jewelry before, but she is right now.Her lashes are so long and her lips are so pink and the earrings make her eyes sparkle.

She feels a twist in her stomach.Will Grant still find her beautiful without all the magic?Will he still care when she turns back into herself?

 

 

“Skye!”

She looks up from her reflection, smiles softly as Grant bounds over the cobblestones.“Grant.”

“I worried you wouldn’t wait,” he says.“I’m sorry about- Christian just thought he’d be the one to dance with you, is all.”

“I hope I didn’t offend him,” Skye says, though she finds she couldn’t care less.

“It’s not your fault,” Grant says.“It’s mine.Christian thought I had convinced you.”He sits down beside her, gives her a shy little grin. “I doubt I could convince you to do anything you didn’t want to.”

“I doubt you could, either,” Skye says.

He laughs.

“I’m very stubborn,” Skye continues.

“I’ll bet,” Grant says.“Are you ever going to tell me where you’re from?”

Skye looks at the ground.Lifts her skirts so she can study the sparkle of her shoes.“I’m from a manor not far from here.”

“Are you?” Grant says.“I’ve never seen you before.”

“Well,” Skye says.“I’m not a noble.”She has to tell him.Better he rejects her now.“I’m a serving girl.And not the kind that gets to see company.”She tightly grabs her skirts, wills herself to keep going.“I clean.Fireplaces, mostly.”

Grant says nothing.That can’t be good.

“Would you believe a woman from a falling star did this for me?” Skye says, if only to fill the silence.“I made one silly little wish and now-”

“I’m sorry,” Grant says, suddenly.He takes her hand.“I’m sorry.I didn’t know.I would’ve looked for you if I’d known, I would’ve found you sooner, I was stupid I didn’t think-”

“Wait,” Skye says.“Wait, wait.You’re sorry?”

“That you’ve been cleaning fireplaces all this time,” Grant says.“Alone.When I should’ve been looking for you.”

“You never would’ve found me,” Skye says.“You didn’t even know I existed.”

“But that’s how true love works,” Grant tells her.“That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“What?” Skye says.“Two people find each other?”

“In the unlikeliest of circumstances,” he says.

Skye touches his cheek, watches his eyes flutter.“This feels pretty unlikely to me,” she whispers.

He nuzzles her hand.“You’ll never clean another fireplace,” he says.“I promise.”

She kisses him.Thrills as he wraps his arms around her, meets her passion with his own.

“Skye,” he whispers, as they part.“I promise I would’ve found you.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Skye says.“I’m right here.”

His lips are the softest, sweetest thing, tender and giving and she’s lost in his kisses.Lost in the garden, under his spell. 

“I love you,” he says softly, between kisses.He barely knows her, but it feels right.“I love you, I love you.”

 

 

She lets him kiss her and kiss her until he’s stolen every breath from her lungs and every beat of her heart.He holds her to his chest, one hand twisting the hair at the nape of her neck.  

It thrills her, how clean she is that he can kiss her and not come away covered in grime.That she can kiss a prince and that he loves her as truly as she loves him.

She stops counting the seconds until midnight.Forgets that she doesn’t belong here.Where she belongs is with him and they need to be together, always, and it’s the most perfect thing.

And then, of course, the clock strikes midnight, and she has to break a particularly searing kiss.

“Oh,” Skye says.“Oh, no.”

“What?” Grant says.

She shakes her head.Reaches under her dress, and slips off a shoe.“I’ll explain when we meet again,” she says.“Just- that’s my slipper.I have the other, and it will lead you to me.”

“That’s rather bizarre,” Grant says.

“Fairy magic,” Skye says.“I’m sorry.I really am.”

“I’ll find you,” Grant promises, clutching her slipper to his chest.“Don’t worry.If you have to go-”

“I really do,” she says.She picks up her skirts, spares Grant one last look.The clock is pounding, and she’s already wasted too much time.She rushes from the garden through the ballroom, ignoring the gasps and the murmurs as she does.It’s rude to run through a ballroom, she supposes.

It’s probably ruder to be in rags, though, so she hurries back down the palace steps, to her carriage.

“Hello, boys,” she says to her horse-mice.They neigh in appreciation, perhaps even relief.“Yes, yes,” Skye continues.“I’m fine.”She climbs into the carriage, and prays that her coachman doesn’t turn back into a lizard while he drives.“I won’t be if we stay much longer, though.So... shall we?”

The carriage takes off like a bolt.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Grant rush to the bottom of the steps, just a few moments behind her.And behind Grant is his brother, with the most curious look on his face.

She averts her eyes from Christian’s gaze, catching Grant’s breathless look before the carriage whisks her away.The wheels are starting to wobble, and she should probably be worried about the horse turning to mice and the carriage turning to a pumpkin and her dress is actually already starting to turn into rags again, but, but-

Grant’s still holding her shoe.

She doesn’t know why that means so much.But it does.

 

\--

 

She spends the next day cleaning.Humming.Waiting.She’s got her shoe tucked away safely in her garret, with the mice keeping watch.He’ll find her.She just knows it.

She’s never felt so light-hearted before.So free.She’s been getting strange looks all day, since she’s cleaner than anyone’s ever seen her.She’d lied, of course.Said she went down to the river while everyone was at the ball.

The lady of the house almost, almost complimented her about it.She’d said Skye looked almost human.

She’s not going to let any of that bother her, anymore.She’s in love.And that’s what matters most.

She stops cleaning in the evening, sky orange, as the kitchen staff comes in to prepare the evening meal.She’s free for the rest of the evening (and soon for the rest of her life.How divine this is.How lucky she’s become!)

She wanders into the garden, giving a twirl in her raggedy dress.She sighs, content.He’ll be here any moment.She can tell.She can certainly feel something coming for her, and it must be him.It must be.

 

“Oh, my dear girl.”

Skye freezes, mid-step.That’s not Grant.That’s not Grant at all.Skye turns to the voice.“Fairy Godmother?”

Godmother is frowning at her, like Skye is some kind of disappointing child.She’s in green now, and it almost makes her look...sinister?

“What’s wrong?” Skye asks, taking a tentative step towards her.“Where’s Grant?”

Godmother gives a forlorn sigh.Produces Skye’s slipper from her robe.

Not the one Skye has in the attic.That’s the one she gave to Grant.

Skye feels her mouth go dry.“How did you-”

“This is my fault,” Godmother says.“I wasn’t clear enough.”

Skye moves back as Godmother steps forward.Feels the sudden urge to run inside.She takes another step back, another-

Her feet tangle in vines, and she falls.Twists herself at the last moment so that her side braces the impact.

Those vines were not there before.Those vines are magic.

Those vines are a trap.

Skye gazes up at her fairy godmother with wide, fearful eyes.“What are you doing?”

Her Godmother crouches beside her, wipes the dirt from Skye’s cheek.“You fell for the wrong prince, my dear.”

Skye tries to scramble away.More vines, around her wrists.Keeping her still.“What did you do to Grant?”

“Me?” Godmother asks.“I simply locked him in his room.He’ll be fine once this mess is over.”She pauses.“Well, he’ll be heartbroken, but other than that-”

“What are you going to do to him?” Skye demands.“Why have you come here?”

“My dear girl,” Godmother says.Tucks Skye’s hair behind her ear.“My naive girl.My price was an easy one to pay.You simply made a mistake.”

“What price?” Skye asks.“We never made a deal.There was never a bargain!”

“You made a wish, darling,” she says.“That’s as binding as any deal could be.”

“I just wanted to go to the ball,” Skye says.“That’s all.I didn’t mean to fall for Grant but I love him and you can’t take him away, you can’t-”

“Shh, shh,” Godmother coos.“You wanted to go to the ball.Prince Christian wanted a girl.It was supposed to be easy.I truly thought you’d fall for him.Isn’t Grant rather meek? After all, he'll only ever be a prince. Wouldn’t you rather love a king?”

Skye glares up at the traitor, the witch.“I will never love Prince Christian.”

Godmother finally smiles at her.Sadly.“I wish you could have,” she says.“Of your own choice, I mean.”

“I am choosing,” Skye says.“He’ll find me, you know. He’ll fight you and he’ll kill you.”

“I’m sure he would if he could,” Godmother says.“A deal’s a deal.Now hold still.I’ve been told this stings.”

 

Skye doesn’t hold still.Of course she doesn’t.She struggles in the vines, screams, curses, and vows revenge- And finally, as the wand comes out, she begs.

She’s crying.She’s not supposed to cry anymore.She has Grant she has love she has so much now. Why couldn’t she have kept it for more than one night?Her lip quivers.Her whole body shakes.“Please,” Skye says.“I love him.”

“It’s out of my hands,” Godmother says.

And she points her wand at Skye’s chest and fires.

Skye remembers, faintly, what the cleaning spell had felt like.This is something like that, but it burns as it scrubs her.And it doesn’t scrub her skin.It scrubs at her veins, at her bones.It blazes through her bloodstream, twisting up to her head and into her heart.

She never told Grant ‘I love you.’She’d never said it out loud.She’d thought she’d get the chance soon but Grant, her sweet Grant... If she can just picture his face and the way he kissed her and-

The spell creeps into her thoughts of the ball, wrapping around Grant with dark tendrils and pulling him away.It had been waiting for her to slip, for her traitorous heart to lead the magic right to the source.

And she’d done it.Without meaning to.She’d just wanted to be strong and brave and he’s getting fainter now, the prince, oh no she loves him and he has a name, she loves him and he-

He-

What’s his name?She feels her love for him so strongly, and she cannot remember his name.

They’d danced.He’d taught her to waltz with a soft smile and he had the most beautiful eyes.

And he’s a prince!

_The_ Prince, actually.

 

 

A sigh of relief runs through her, easing the strange, burning sting that had been crawling under her skin.

The Prince.She’d given him her glass slipper.Because he’s her true love, and she knows that absolutely.

She opens her eyes, gazes up at the kind face of her Fairy Godmother.

“Are you alright, dear?” Godmother asks.“You fainted.I think it’s the heat.”

Skye nods, brushes the dirt off her dress.“I’m alright,” she says, shakily rising to her feet.“You’re here to take me to him, aren’t you?”

Godmother studies her face.“Him?”

“The prince,” Skye insists, grinning.“Prince Christian.Has he forgotten me?Please tell me he hasn’t!”

Godmother fondly pats Skye on the head.“My dear,” she says. “He could never forget you.”

Skye’s so happy to hear that.Her heart could just burst.“Thank you, Godmother,” Skye says.“I love him so much.I could never have found him without you.”

She sees something strange flicker in her Godmother’s gaze.But it’s replaced quickly with a broad smile as she gently takes Skye’s hand.“We shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Godmother says.

And she couldn’t keep him waiting, she absolutely couldn’t.Her Godmother smiles at her, and Skye happily shuts her eyes as the spell whisks them away.

She loves him.She loves Prince Christian so much.And she’ll get to be his princess forever.

 

 


End file.
